


Taking Licenses

by Sath



Series: Fools Barge In [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Bureaucracy, Contracts, Humor, M/M, jokes about Sindarin, the Eryn Lasgalen Appellation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 03:57:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3275807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sath/pseuds/Sath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard is told that the only way he can renew his barge license is by having sex with Thranduil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Licenses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [acaramelmacchiato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/acaramelmacchiato/gifts).



Bard was unsurprised that Alfrid delivered paperwork with a leer.

“Some additional documentation needed for your barge license application, sir,” Alfrid said. “It seems that your license to operate was originally filed under Lake-town Municipal Code 210.52 F, but as you are doing business with the sovereign kingdom of Mirkwood, that puts you under the absolute authority of the Elvenking, as Elves do not submit to the laws of Men. I have, through great personal effort, located the original Sindarin Administrative Code, and as you can see here, underlined, there is a clause.”

“I cannot read Elvish, Alfrid.”

“Allow me to translate.” Alfrid held up the massive codex with pride. “‘If a Man of Lake-town (amended from Dale as of TA 2770) wishes to do business with the Elves of Mirkwood, he need only be licensed under his own Lord or Master’s laws. However, persuant to the regulatory codes of the Eryn Lasgalen Appellation, no foreign wines may be imported save by royal warrant of the King. Only those who submit to the generative organs of the King, viz. take the mare’s part in the rearing stallion of trade, will receive this warrant.”

Bard paused from counting the hairs between Alfrid’s eyebrows. He had made it to fifteen. “What does that mean in plain language? Am I supposed to bring him a horse? We live on a lake.”

“It means you have to let him bugger you.”

Bard stormed out.

 

* * *

 

“I heard it doesn’t count if it’s an Elf,” Harald said, passing Bard the pipeweed.

“Heard what doesn’t count?” Bard replied.

“Buggery. If it’s an Elf.”

“Count for what?”

Harald turned thoughtful. “You know, I’m not sure. Been a while for you, hasn’t it?”

Bard took a long draw from the pipe. “Aye.”

 

* * *

 

“My lord, a petition from Bard the Bargeman, son of Brand Also A Bargeman, and probable descendant of Girion,” the herald announced with a bow, then immediately shuffled out of view.

King Thranduil tapped one finger against his wineglass. “I’m not signing anything. The last time I signed something I received letters from a prince of Númenor promising mountains of gold if I would only send a small security to recover his fortune from the sea. For centuries.”

Bard would not allow himself to flinch from his duty. “I have come to receive the royal wine warrant.”

“Have you spoken to my son, Legolas? He usually takes care of these things. I’m too busy,” Thranduil said, draining his glass. An attendant materialized out of nowhere to refill his wine.

“Only you can give… it to me,” Bard insisted.

Thranduil regally sighed and slowly descended down the stairs from the throne. Bard was amazed he didn’t trip over his flowing robes, but he supposed kings were taught such skills from a young age. Thranduil rolled up his sleeves and gave Bard an expectant look. “Well?”

“My lord, I do not have much experience in these matters,” Bard said, fumbling with his belt. “Nor any recent experience to speak of.”

“That would make two of us.”

Bard gave a polite laugh. Thranduil didn’t seem to care if Bard took off his tunic, so he just dropped his breeches and turned around, bracing himself on one of the columns. He heard the king draw in a breath.

“What strange custom is this?” Thranduil asked.

“It’s your custom,” Bard said, feeling his face reddening in shame. “The royal warrant is only granted if I submit to your manly parts. Elfly parts. Whatever you call them. Like a mare to a rearing stallion.”

“I see. Have you the documents?”

“I didn’t come here just to get buggered, of course I have them.” Bard bent down to get the application out of his breeches and handed it to the king, frowning as he did so with more intensity than was proper with royalty.

“Of course you didn’t,” Thranduil said softly, reading over the document. He smiled and pointed to Alfrid’s underlining. “Ah, I see the misunderstanding now. The words for sodomy and a non-compete clause are very close in Sindarin, if you are barely able to read. This must be extremely embarrassing for you.”

“Words spoken with great wisdom and understanding, my lord,” Bard mumbled as he gathered his breeches back up to his waist. “I’ll just sign the papers and take my leave.”

“You seem disappointed.”

Bard tried his best not to glare. “I was prepared to do my duty.”

“You have very comely thighs, Bargeman. But do not let me keep you from your business.”

Did Elves usually compliment each other’s thighs? Was it the equivalent of saying someone had a nicely plugged boat? “I can put it off,” Bard replied.

“I fear we may run into another misunderstanding,” Thranduil said. “Just to be clear, I would like you to put off your business for sex.”

Bard dropped his breeches for a second time.

**Author's Note:**

> The sex was really awkward but both of them committed to it 100% and agreed to give it another go later.


End file.
